


Dreams

by lucy_in_the_sky



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, but it's not too bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 23:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13535238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_in_the_sky/pseuds/lucy_in_the_sky
Summary: When the European tour takes Armie and Timothée back to where everything began, Timmy starts dreaming about what they had and what could have been.





	Dreams

* * *

.

 

I frantically sat up, panting, trying to dispel the memories from my body.

 

I felt sweat cooling on my overheated face as I wrapped my arms around my frame, physically holding myself together.

 

It was just a dream.

 

I willed my mind to forget his touch and smell and laugh and smile, but it only clung tighter to those days back in Crema when we were free to love without any conditions.

 

I longed to forget how easy it was to touch him and kiss him and fall in love with him. It never felt anything but organic, our love. Nothing ever felt rushed or forced or fake.

 

I squeezed my eyes tighter, thinking that if I shut out all light from entering my vision, I could shut out the feelings, too.

 

I was wrong.

 

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and removed my hands from my biceps, moving them to my tear-stained cheeks.

 

Breathe in.

 

Hold.

 

Breathe out.

 

Repeat.

 

My heart rate slowed down and the dream faded minutely, but the feelings were as sharp as ever.

 

Armie's hands wrapping around my neck, tugging my hair, holding my waist, tracing my lips. Those lips on my cheek, my neck, my chest, my hips.

 

Phantom fingers curled themselves in my curly hair, and I rushed to replace them with my own, real fingers.

 

It was _just_ a dream.

 

Because only in dreams was I allowed to unpack that summer and all it's complicated emotions.

 

In life, in the moments I was awake and engaged with the world, I forced myself to forget about everything that had happened. How easy everything felt.

 

Because I couldn't have one ounce of that experience and it just seemed easier to nip them in the bud, the feelings that had lingered from sun soaked Italian afternoons.

 

He's married.

 

I'm being childish.

 

I swung my legs off of the bed, taking a shaky breath before I hopped to the floor, picking up the jeans I had carelessly tossed to the ground before bed yesterday.

 

I got dressed, putting my wallet and phone into my pocket before heading out into the chilly streets.

 

I've always loved Paris. Felt like I belonged here. Just like how I belong in Armie’s arms-

 

Wait, no.

 

I forced my brain to halt it's thoughts and instead focused on the dim street lights that, along with the moon, lit up the 3 AM sky.

 

I walked around the neighborhood while I waited for the pain to ebb away, reassuring myself step by step that I could handle this, that the pain and desire and memories would soon go away.

 

Twenty minutes passed by and I felt okay enough to return to the hotel, not even stopping when I passed his door. His and Elizabeth's door.

 

Morning came sooner than anticipated but I could handle it.

 

I've handled it for basically two years, why should being back in Europe with him change anything?

 

Because it did. It changed everything.

 

I got through a day filled with press and cameras and interviews and Armie and I'm slightly ashamed that I'm proud because of it.

 

 

-

 

 

It took all of two nights for the nightmares to return.

 

I was allotted two nights of restful sleep before that privilege was ripped from my hands.

 

I woke up in a cold sweat, tears streaming down my face, heart beating a mile a minute,  feeling like someone had rubbed my throat with sandpaper.

 

It felt like when your leg cramps up in the middle of the night and you wake up to excruciating pain, unable to do anything but writhe in bed and pray for the pain to end. It always felt like the cramps would go on forever, and you became so desperate for any reprieve that you found yourself seriously considering hurting other parts of your body just to dull the pain in your leg.

 

I trudged to the bathroom mirror, disappointed to find no trace of the internal torture on my face. All I saw was purple bags and dried up tears tears, fierce reminders of how the dreams were not reality, and therefore didn't matter to anyone but me.

 

Suddenly, I could hear the door to my hotel room opening and slamming shut, hurried feet making their way into the room.

 

I guess I'd forgotten to lock the door last night.

 

“Timmy?” Armie's voice called out through the haze of my thoughts.  

 

“Timmy, where are you?”

 

I didn't answer but he found his way to the bathroom anyway.

 

“Hey, hi, are you okay?”

 

Where do I even start with that question?

 

How do you convey to the man you're in love with - who you know is entirely unavailable - that you keep having dreams about him and how you used to be able to feel with him and it makes you want to strangle him just to keep yourself safe.

 

I thought of that Elio quote. The one about hurting Oliver, killing him to rid himself of of his cocky self-confidence. But also the one right after that one. The one where he thinks about hurting _himself_ to show Oliver how much he is suffering because he can't be with him.

 

I looked at Armie.

 

He was wearing a Union Jack t-shirt and sweats that kept out the chill of late January London.

 

I loved him.

 

Breathe in.  

 

Hold.

 

Breathe out.

 

Repeat.

 

“I'm fine, just a bad dream,”

 

I pushed past him into the bedroom, trying to get those dark thoughts out of my mind. Now, this tour, is not the time to resort to self destructive coping mechanisms. I _have_ to get over this.

 

He followed me into the room, grabbing my arm and trying to get me to face him.

 

He called my name again, voice stern but laced with concern.

 

He spun me around, eyes begging for me to let him in, to tell him what was obviously eating at me.

 

For all these nominations I was getting, I'm a pretty shit actor. I can't even convince Armie that nothing's wrong.

 

“ _Timmy_ , you were shouting” he pleaded, voice only a whisper.

 

_“Armie,”_ I repeated in the same tone.

 

I guess that explained the sandpaper throat. Fuck, it still hurt.

 

“You’re hurting, please let me help,”

 

He read the reluctance on my face and sighed.

 

His hand dropped from my wrist and he started to back out of the room.

 

“I'm right across the hall if you need anything,”

 

I nodded, or at least I think I did, and then watched as he shut my door with one last pleading look.

 

I moved back to the bed but I didn't trust myself to sleep again. I would just dream about him and then wake up in worse pain than I was already in.

 

I felt my hands tightly squeeze my arms, but I was unable to move them to stop the dull pain radiating from my biceps.

 

Breathe in.

 

Hold.

 

Cry.

 

No.

 

Breathe in.

 

Hold.

 

Breathe out.

 

Repeat.

 

I was so exhausted but I couldn't handle another dream.

 

The clock resting on the rickety bedside table told me it was just past four in the morning.

 

It was five AM in Paris. Pauline would be sleeping.

 

I called her anyway, holding my phone tightly against my ear with my right hand as my left continued to cling to my arm. I just wanted to hear someone's voice comforting me because it seemed I was incapable of accomplishing that task myself.  

 

She didn't pick up.

 

I dropped my phone next to me and tried to prepare for the day ahead, the last day in London.

 

Soon we'd be back in Crema, back in the place that held so many memories.

 

I felt nauseous.

 

I'm 22, I'm not a baby. I should be able to cope with falling in love with a co-star. I should be able to get over him. I should I should I should I should I should.

 

I made up my mind that I should take another walk, the last one seeming to clear my mind after that first all too real dream.

 

Key. Check. Wallet. Check. Phone. Check.

 

I felt my feet carry my body across the room and I reached out my hand to grab the door knob.

 

Stepping into the hotel hallway, I saw Armie look up from the glowing screen of his phone.

 

“Ar-what?” I stuttered blearily.

 

Armie put his phone is his pocket and cornered me back into my hotel room, closing the door behind us.

 

“I-I was gonna-”

 

“No, you're gonna let me take care of you, okay?” He interrupted in a soft tone.

 

He sat me down on the bed and took off my jacket.

 

I felt weak and vulnerable and not at all ready for his to treat me like this.

 

I struggled against his arms that we're trying to take my hands out of my sleeves.

 

“Armie,”

 

He shushed me and continued, finally ridding me of the jacket.  

 

“Armie, please,” I begged, hating how small I sounded.

 

I wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms, to let him make everything feel better, but I just couldn't.

 

I couldn't handle the fact that I was in love with him.

 

I began to cry.

 

I guess several nights of little sleep and too much adrenaline really messed with a guy's emotions.

 

But maybe this was long overdue. Two years too long.

 

My arms returned to their new favorite spot, the tender skin of my lower biceps, just above my elbows.

 

Fingernails dug into the skin there as Armie tried to comfort me, shushing me and whispering who knows what into my ear.

 

“You're hurting yourself, T, stop that,”

 

Armie reached for my hands, attempting to pry them away from my arms, not expecting the resistance I put up.

 

He shot me a quizzical look and tried again.

 

“Stop that, Timmy, you're gonna give yourself bruises,”

 

Good, I thought.

 

I’d _hoped_ I'd give myself bruises. Purple and deep blue and brown with tints of yellow. Physical reminders of the pain I was in.

 

But then I thought of that Elio quote again, and how much better it would be of Armie was the one to give me bruises.

 

To be able to replace months worth of beautiful memories with one night of abuse. Maybe that was what I needed to stop these dreams, to stop this pain.

 

“Okay,” I conceded.

 

I let Armie pull my hands away, holding on to my wrist in his tight grasp.

 

“Now you,” I said.

 

His eyebrows furrowed, genuinely confused.

 

“Bruise me, Armie. Hurt me,” I opened my arms, giving him room to hit me where he liked. I must have looked a sight. Purple bruises just beginning to form on my upper arms, tears drying on my pale face, body open and vulnerable, willing to take anything he gave me.

 

His face turned dark.

 

I didn't move.

 

“Stop,” his voice rumbled.

 

I still didn't move.

 

“Timmy, what are you doing?”

 

“I can’t take this anymore, so please, Armie, hurt me and make me forget,”

 

“Forget? Timmy I have no clue what you're talking about,” he started talking over me.

 

“I need you to erase the memories because I'm not strong enough,”

 

“Timothée, stop, you're scaring me,”

 

“Please, Armie, the memories,”

 

“Hey, hey, Timmy, stop, look at me,”

 

That's when he reached out and tried to grab me, hold me.

 

“I want you to hurt me so I won't remember what it feels like to have you love me,” my voice raised to a shout.

 

I hadn't noticed that he'd stopped talking, that it was just me finishing what I had to say.

 

My wrists were trapped in his tight grip, his fingers denting my skin. Chances are he'd accidentally given me the bruises I craved from him.

 

He was kneeling on the bed with one leg, the other planted firmly on the carpet.

 

Armie just stared at me and I stared back, too exhausted to fight his hold on my wrists or continue to beg him to hurt me.

 

I could feel him trying to read me like the open book I was, but I felt entirely blank, nothing left to be read except what I'd yelled at him moments earlier.

 

He suddenly hung his head and I could hear soft sobs.

 

What was happening?

 

His hands dropped mine and moved to his face, rubbing his eyes then covering his mouth to silence the soft whimpers that escaped.

 

I backed up, put off by this unexpected turn of events.

 

Armie looked up as I shuffled further onto the bed. He reached for me, but I dodged his hands.

 

“Timmy, Timothée, fuck,”

 

He breathed in deeply and exhaled with force. His other leg joined the one on the bed and he was kneeling in front of me.

 

He opened his arms and silently begged me to go to him.

 

Fuck. I couldn't fight anymore.

 

I crawled into his hold and let him wrapped his arms around me, tried to let him carry some of my burden.

 

Armie moved until he was against the headboard and I was on top of him, head resting against his unsteady heart.

 

He was scared for me.

 

So was I.

 

After a while, I felt decent enough to try and start this painfully awkward conversation so I sat up and placed myself in between his thighs, not quite ready to distance ourselves.

 

He looked at me with the same eyes that had peered into my soul back in Crema. They forced me to open up to him and tell him everything; it was his super power.

 

“In Crema,” I started tentatively, “I felt free,”

 

He nodded and waited for me to continue.

 

“I got to know Elio, and by extension, Oliver, and by extension,” I paused, looking him in those eyes. “You,”

 

“By the end of filming, I forgot to act, I just felt,” it was the truth.

 

His hands gripped my hips, making sure I couldn't move away from the comfort of his body.

 

“And recently, I've been having dreams about how easy it was to-”

 

I choked up. Fuck this was hard.

 

“-to fall in love with you,” I finished.

 

I couldn't bring myself to look into his eyes. The eyes that had just pried my biggest secret out of the depths of my heart.

 

A new tear began to trek a path down my cheek my Armie's hand reached up to stop it, swiping my face with the lad of his thumb while he tested his hand against my jaw.

 

“I just want to be able to move on, but I _can't,_ Armie, I can't,” I whimpered.

 

His hand on my jaw tilted, forcing my face to turn with it.

 

I met his eyes.

 

The truth was out and I had said my part. I sat back on my heels, waiting for him to respond to that declaration, anticipation eating my mind.

 

“I never want to forget,” he said, truth ringing in his voice.

 

I scoffed.

 

“But it's not the same for you because-”

 

“Because I'm not in love with you? Is that what you think? Jesus, Timmy, I thought you knew,” he ran his hands through his unkempt hair.

 

“Thought I knew what?” I asked innocently, unable to keep the wave of hope that flooded through my worn out body at bay.

 

“Timmy, I love you, I'm in love with you,”

 

My brain froze.

 

He's. He's in love with me.

 

“Bu-what about, but, Elizabeth-”

 

He smiled and took my jaw in both of his hands.

 

“I love her, too, of fucking course I love her, but I also love you, T. It's a different love but it's no less strong,”

 

All I could do was stare at his and try to make sense of his words.

 

“Timmy, Crema changed so much for me, it opened my heart and my eyes and I'm beyond lucky to have found you,”

 

“I love you,” I whispered.

 

“I love you, too,” he laughed.

 

I let my guard come down from where it's been all night, all year, ever since leaving Crema and forcing myself to hold back from who I was and what I wanted.

 

“Can I kiss you?” He asked.

 

We both smiled at the reference, unconscious or otherwise, to the story that held so many parallels to our own, equally complicated and equally passionate tale.

 

I didn't respond like I had while shooting, I responded like written in the book.

 

I surged forward and kissed him, willing my lips to convey all of my love and desire for this man.

 

I think he understood my unspoken message.

 

His hands crept up my back and into my hair and I placed my own on his chest, fingers curling in his t-shirt.

 

We didn't go any further than that, I was too fragile and honestly, not ready despite my begging for Armie to take me then and there.

He just wrapped me in his arms and held my body against his, shielding me from the biting cold of loneliness in his embrace.

 

I fell asleep with his name on my kiss bitten lips, knowing all too well how I had to be awake again in less than four hours, but finding it hard to care as I leaned into the warmth and comfort Armie always exuded.

 

I could feel the evening of his breaths, his chest falling into a slow pattern of up and down as sleep took him, too.

 

Breathe in.

 

Hold.

 

Breathe out.

 

Repeat.

 


End file.
